wild bunny

This morning I held a baby wild brown bunny in my palm. He, yes I checked, was small hardly able to hop through our lawn. Somehow he had gotten out of the nest too early and gotten separated from his mom. Buddy alerted me to him by sitting beside him and guarding him. There was another that was dead.

I didn't know what to do. He was young enough to still need to nurse and it is always dicey taking a wild one and hand rearing it. And what would I do with him afterwards? I have five, count them, five angora bunnies already. One of whom is a female who needs to be breed.

And why did we bother to put the fence around the veggie garden last weekend? It was specifically to keep little brown bunnies from noshing on our peas and beans and lettuce and carrots.

I held him kicking in my palm and looked into his just opened eyes, saw his tiny transparent claws and beginnings of a beautiful coat and I put him into the weeds by the fence with a wish and a hope that whatever should happen would.

But even from that brief contact, I miss him and wish him well in a world where he is Prey to most everyone.